Dolls
by funkymoleperson
Summary: And there she sat...with her doll...one-shot.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Ghost in the Shell.**

**Summary: That morning, that morning in the airport when she…Motoko…was sitting with her doll…One-shot. Well, more like a scrabble-ficlet, if you will, but…**

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Dolls

"Wait here," was what her mother had said. Motoko hadn't listened to the rest, other than to awkwardly clamp her hand around the ticket that was shoved her way. Her other hand rested in her lap, next to her doll. Its body had rolled down between her legs, one arm propped haphazardly on top. The head lay precariously close to the edge of her knees, and she could feel it on the verge of rolling off…

"Momma, momma, look at that girl! What's wrong with her? Why is she sitting so stiffly?" a small blonde girl with pigtails tugged at her mother's skirt. Her mother looked over at Motoko; quickly averting her eyes when she saw that the young girl had heard.

"She's a cyborg, honey. Come on now, it's impolite to stare. Do you have your backpack? Good…let's go find Grandpa then, ok?" the mother replied, and rather forcefully attempted to usher the younger child away, but she would not be deterred. The smaller girl stared openly at Motoko with a kind of morbid fascination.

"You mean she's a robot?" the girl asked, her eyes bulging. Motoko avoided making eye contact with the other child; trying to ignore the unwanted attention, even though she could not. Ever since the new body, hearing had never been a problem…

"Leiko, we're going now!" the mother said sternly, taking her daughter firmly by the wrist and all but dragging her away. Motoko shifted and the doll's head slid off her thighs and fell to the floor, bouncing once before rolling under the line of seats in front of her. The eight year old swallowed, fighting back a painful tightening in her chest that she hoped wasn't her wiring failing, and set aside the rest of the doll. She bent down and felt around for the head, but only managed to knock it farther away. This…new body didn't feel right. It felt like a shell, not like her old one…

"Hey look, it's Robo Girl," drawled a tall teenage boy, suddenly appearing beside the fumbling girl, a shorter boy beside him leering unpleasantly at her. They were not here to gawk…but to make fun of her. That much Motoko knew by now. She tried desperately to locate her doll's head, but to her dismay, the older boy snatched it up before she could reach it.

"Well, well, well, the little freak has lost her dolly's head. Come on, let's hide it away so that she can look for it again," he sneered, casually tossing the head up in the air and catching it. The other boy snickered gleefully. Motoko stood up slowly, silently watching her tormentors, calculating.

"I think we should hide it away somewhere really hard to find," continued the first boy, "How about on the runway?" Motoko's eyes widened fearfully, accidentally betraying her emotions in a moment of childishness – something she had lost in the operation. Both boys chortled and then took off running towards the emergency door that led outside. _Surely_ they wouldn't do it…

The sun hung low in the sky and a small girl with short purple hair stood with her nose pressed against the window as a stray tear trickled down her cheek from the tear ducts she didn't even know she had. _Wait_. She had waited. And waited. Right after the operation they had said that it would get better after a while, but it still hadn't.

_"For am I not like a doll myself? This is humanoid, but it is not human…"_

"Motoko!" someone snapped. Her mother was back, with the necessities collected together. The plane had arrived, to take them away…again. The older woman did not even look at her daughter as she firmly steered her towards the gate. There were few people left, now.

Motoko looked back only once, but did not move to pick up the remains of her doll on the seat. Without the head, it was incomplete. Like her. She felt…broken…

A small girl, sitting in the window seat of a small jet that would take her to another town. Another operation. Another life. But to the watchers on, she would always be another doll. The plane landed.

A small girl, sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, looking over at her slumbering mother, who treated her with not the love and affection that other human mothers showed their daughters. Their _human_ daughters. She tried to clench her fist, but her fingers wouldn't bend correctly.

A small girl, sitting on the park bench in the middle of July while the other kids played at the beach. She was all alone. A doll, a plaything, but not living. Not real. She didn't belong.

A young woman, long past the age that her body mirrored sitting on the wharfs looking out at the sunset and remembering her doll while pondering the doll she had become.

_End_


End file.
